


absolutely not

by JBS_Forever



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: can i call this humor?, fluff?, humor?, peter and tony investigate a house known to be haunted, tony is one thousand percent done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-15 18:49:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21257951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JBS_Forever/pseuds/JBS_Forever
Summary: “Okay,” Tony says. “That was … it was a little creepy, I'll admit. Maybe we should –”“Already on it,” Peter says, and turns his phone around to film his face. “Hey, world, it's Peter Parker. I'm recording this as physical evidence that Mr. Stark and I are about to die by the hands of evil spirits. Possessed souls. Wandering ghouls who want to devour our flesh. The sad, tragic tale of –”Tony sighs. “Hey, remind me to never do anything with you ever again.”





	absolutely not

**Author's Note:**

> This is a belated birthday present for bean_reads_fanfic, who, a million lifetimes ago, sent me an ask on tumblr talking about what it would be like if Peter and Tony were stuck in a haunted house. She hinted at angst, and in a move so unlike myself, I went for humor. Oops.  


Tony nudges the spine of a dust-covered book and lets his gaze wander the dilapidated room. “For the record,” he says. “This wasn't my idea.”

Peter looks up from his phone and lifts an eyebrow. “Uh, this was one hundred percent your idea.”

“No,” says Tony. “My idea was to check the place out like I was asked to. Give it a once over. Not stay here and – what did you call it? _Investigate_? Ghost hunt? I'm too old for fairy tales, kid.”

“It's not a fairy tale. Haven't you heard the stories?”

“Nope. And I don't want to.” Tony swivels toward the door, and the light emanating from the housing unit on his chest swivels with him, dropping Peter into near darkness. He steps out into the hall and hears Peter stumble after him, sees the torch on his phone come to life.

“People _died_ in this house, Mr. Stark,” Peter says.

“And there you are telling me anyway.”

“Back in the early 1900s there were all these mysterious murders here that never got solved. It's supposed to be super haunted.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Sure,” he says, and takes a moment to consider his life choices, to ask himself how he ended up here of all places. It's not as if he believes in ghosts. He never has – never really wanted to either, if he's honest. There are enough abnormalities in his life already, enough superheroes and aliens and gods from other worlds. And Tony, at some point in all the chaos, decided that was it. That was all he could take. The universe could keep everything else as far away as possible.

But Peter, a kid too young to comprehend the extent of things when the aliens hit New York, a taller kid now in the midst of a run-down house upstate, is having a blast with it. Tony was only supposed to come here to make sure a dangerous villain wasn't hiding out, but then Peter had heard where he was going and begged to come along, and now Tony really is starting to regret some of his decisions.

“–and they found the sledgehammer, but there were no prints on it.”

“Uh huh,” Tony says. He pushes on the door to his right and it opens a foot before it collides into something hard and bounces back. He presses a palm against the wood. “Peek inside there,” he tells Peter. “See what's blocking it.”

Peter edges out beside him. He slips into the space Tony has created and leans around the door to check the obstruction. “It's just a desk,” he says, and he almost sounds disappointed. What was he expecting? A spirit? A dead body?

Impatient, Tony says, “You see any criminals in there?”

Peter shines his light across the room. Floorboards creak under his weight, and he clicks his tongue, his disheartened attitude goading Tony, irritating him. He must not find anything useful. He shifts to pull back, and then, at the last minute, jumps, as if spooked.

Tony gets ready to activate his suit, but as fast as Peter tenses, he relaxes again. He backs himself into the hall and shakes his head. “No criminals.”

No explanation either. “Ooo-kay,” says Tony.

“Anyway,” Peter says, following after him, and Tony swears he can hear his voice shaking. “Ned and I always wanted to come check this place out, but May wouldn't let us. She thought it was too dangerous. I mean, that's what she told me. But I think she's scared of it.”

“Apparently so are the cops,” says Tony. “Hence me being here.”

“It was, like, thirty people, Mr. Stark. That's a lot of murders. And that's not even talking about the people who came here to investigate and went missing.”

“Sounds like a lovely place.” _A lovely place indeed_, Tony thinks, as they pass by moldy walls and peeling wallpaper. He grimaces. The bathroom is no better, the pungent smell of mildew so strong that behind him Peter cups a hand over his mouth and nose and mumbles something into his palm. Tony gives the cracked porcelain tub a brief glance and leads them away, and he's halfway to the last room on this floor when he feels the strange sensation of empty space. He turns to find Peter is no longer behind him, instead stopped near the bathroom, head tilted like he's listening for something.

“Do you hear that?” he asks.

Tony stills himself to listen too. Silence settles in the house. “Hear what?”

“I don't know,” Peter says. “It kind of sounds like scratching.”

“It's probably a rat,” says Tony. “Not like this place is up to current health codes. Or any health codes for that matter.”

Peter nods, bobbing a few too many seconds. “Right. Yeah. That makes sense.” He fidgets while Tony checks the last room, swings his phone back and forth, the light bouncing off the picture frame above the bed, and Tony tries to ignore it, tries to resist the urge to remind Peter it was his choice to come here in the first place, but god, there's so much tension coming off the kid it's giving him anxiety too.

“Seriously,” Tony says. “You gotta relax. You're stressing me out here.”

“I'm relaxed,” Peter says, and laughs, breathy and nervous, at Tony's pointed look. “Okay, sorry. It's just – enhanced senses, you know? I keep hearing stuff and, uh –” A bang, low and sharp, cuts off the rest of his sentence.

Tony spins around and taps his chest, a line of nanobots sprawling down his right arm to form part of his suit. He positions his hand out in preparation to blast whatever he needs to, and Peter says, “You heard _that_ one, right?”

“Yup,” says Tony.

“See, I told you! This place is haunted.”

“You do remember we're looking for a real person, yes?” Tony says. “A criminal who is quite capable of making noises?”

“Uh.”

“Yeah, thought so.” Tony traces the sound back to the first room they searched. There's nothing there, just the rusted frame of a twin bed and an old armchair in the corner. Tony moves the curtains aside from the window and the glass is still intact. Peter slides open the closet door.

“Ghosts,” he whispers.

“Old house,” Tony counters.

“Old house filled with ghosts.”

“Calm yourself, Bagans,” Tony says, and Peter smiles a little. “These places always make weird sounds.”

But back in the hallway, the door slams shut on them, and they both startle.

“Do old houses do that too?” Peter asks.

“Okay,” Tony says. “That was … it was a little creepy, I'll admit. Maybe we should –”

“Already on it,” Peter says, and turns his phone around to film his face. “Hey, world, it's Peter Parker. I'm recording this as physical evidence that Mr. Stark and I are about to die by the hands of evil spirits. Possessed souls. Wandering ghouls who want to devour our flesh. The sad, tragic tale of –”

Tony sighs. “Hey, remind me to never do anything with you ever again.”

“It seems Mr. Stark is turning against me,” says Peter. “Let the record show I told him so and he refused to believe me.”

“Let the record show you invited yourself on this mission and you're being a total baby about it,” Tony says. “Come on, we still gotta check the basement.”

Peter glances at him over the top of his screen. “You're joking, right?”

“I never joke about basements.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you're going in there by yourself if you don't hurry up.”

Peter trails after him to the staircase, and says to his camera, “The house is dividing us. Mr. Stark is grumpier than usual. I won't be surprised if he's already possessed.”

“Neither would I,” Tony says. He rests his uncovered hand on the wooden railing and splinters poke at his skin. Everything in this place is a mess, drafty and dirty and run-down. Any kind of breeze could have closed that door. A loose hinge could have closed that door. Tony's not about to give physics up to ghosts just yet.

He reaches the middle landing and right as he starts toward the final set of stairs, something cracks, loud, and Peter lets out a short cry of surprise. One of the steps has given out on him. His right leg is submerged, the left crumpled awkwardly beneath him and the remainder of the board.

“Shit,” Tony says, hurrying back up the steps. “Here, grab my hand.” It takes a long moment for them to pry Peter's leg from the hole he's created, but Tony gets him free, takes him to the landing where the floor feels the most sturdy.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” says Peter, and Tony doesn't have to wonder if he's imagining it this time. Peter's voice is definitely shaking. “I, um – I dropped my phone though.”

“I'll buy you a new one,” Tony says. “Yours was outdated anyway.”

Peter pats at his shin, holds his fingers up to examine in the glow of Tony's housing unit while Tony fishes his glasses from his pocket and perches them on his nose.

“Are you bleeding?” he asks. Peter's jeans are torn in places all the way up to his thigh.

“A little,” Peter says. “It doesn't hurt though.”

“Jesus, kid. Thought you had some kind of sixth sense that warns you about stuff like that.”

“I do. It's just … well, it's kind of been going crazy since we got here.”

“And you didn't think to say anything?”

Peter opens his mouth to protest – Tony recognizes the defensive expression pinching his features – but then the light from Tony's chest flickers, turns off for a solid two seconds before returning again, and even Tony goes silent. It's not supposed to do that.

Another bang upstairs, a second door slamming. Tony is so done.

“Friday,” he says. “Tell me the integrity of the rest of these steps. I have no interest in finding out what's below us.”

“The remaining steps should hold long enough for you to get down them,” says Friday. “But I'd recommend walking along the outer edges.”

“Great. Got that, kid? Outer edges. No more falling.” Tony nudges him ahead and Peter stays close to the wall, his palm hovering over it, ready in case the wood gives way again. He frowns over his shoulder at Tony.

“Hang on," he says. "You've had Friday with you this entire time? Why didn't you just ask her to run a scan to see if that bad guy was here?”

“You think I'm new at this?” Tony asks. “I did ask. She did scan. The images were messed up, so here we are.”

“Messed up, huh?” Peter hums to himself, mutters something Tony can't make out. “Like, ghost messed up? Spirits ruining the thermal imagining messed up? Too many –”

“This is why I didn't say anything. She needs an update. AI's go wonky sometimes. It's not rocket science.”

“Tony.”

“What?”

Peter looks back at him. “Huh?”

“You said my name,” Tony says. “I said 'what?' Now it's your turn to talk.”

They're moving too slow down these stairs, like walking across ice, waiting for it to crack. Tony would rather just run to the bottom, but Peter is being cautious, keeping an eye on the areas Tony touches down on as well as his own.

“I didn't say your name.”

“Real funny,” Tony says. “Ha-ha. Can we just hurry this along?”

“Mr. Stark, I'm not joking. I didn't say anything.”

Finally, they reach the main floor. Tony makes a beeline through the foyer toward the basement. Truth be told, his anxiety is kicking up a notch, and he might not believe in ghosts but that doesn't mean there aren't other things happening here he doesn't have the desire to deal with.

“Tony,” Peter says from the kitchen – except, no, Peter is beside him, not in the kitchen, and from upstairs comes more slamming, the sound of doors opening and closing and metal scraping.

“What the hell is that?” Peter asks.

“Nope,” Tony says. “Absolutely not. We're going. Go.” He pushes Peter toward the front door. Peter doesn't argue. He's hurrying as fast as Tony is, no doubt steered by his own senses going haywire. They race outside into the cold, dark night. Tony has the car running before they get there.

“What about the basement?” Peter asks. “The bad guy?”

“You wanna go back in there? Be my guest. I'll wait right here.”

Peter's eyes are wide. “No, no. I'm good. That's fine. Bad guy? What bad guy?”

“He can live there for all I care,” says Tony, glaring at the house as he gets behind the wheel. Someone glares back at him, a shadowed face in the window, there for one second and gone the next.

“Friday, we're burning this place. Right to the ground.”

“You got it, boss,” says Friday.

“Holy shit,” Peter whispers. “_Holy shit_. _Holy shit_. Did you see that?”

“I saw nothing,” Tony says, and reverses down the driveway. “Nothing at all.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
